Would You Win Back Time for Me?

I struggle with melancholy feelings every holiday season.

I know this comes as no surprise to anyone who has been a friend for any length of time, nor is it a surprise to my readers. I think I even coined a phrase when I was working on the second edition of Resting Merry for the feelings I get: melancholiday. (The feeling of being a little sad and blue while surrounded by the things that make you feel the happiest.)

This year is a bit more melancholiday than ever, because this is our “First Last Christmas.”

It’s been “just the six of us” for a very long time. 15 years, in fact. And in those 15 years of it being just the six of us, I’ve gotten very accustomed to our traditions and the things we do to make memories together during my favorite time of year. We have traditions we’ve been doing since Audrey was born 24 years ago, and some newer traditions we started in the last decade or so. But it’s so customary and normal for all six of us to have these times together that we are all in a bit of shock here, at Christmas 2023.

That’s because next year it will all be different. It will never be “just the six of us” during the holidays (or anywhere, for that matter). Audrey is getting married.

Don’t get me wrong. I love her fiancée and think she is 100% making the wise choice here. All six of us support the marriage and are excited to welcome Sean into our family. But with that welcoming comes some farewells, and this Christmas Robyn and I realize this the beginning of all of the “last Christmas” moments we will have with our kids. It’s our “First Last Christmas.” We’ve never had a last Christmas before–at least, not one that we knew was the last Christmas. We didn’t know our last Christmas in Washington was going to be our last Christmas at the home we built in 2004. We didn’t know the Christmas we had with Robyn’s mom was going to be our last one with her.

This one, though? We know it’s the last one. Which means every moment matters just a bit more. Every word carries more weight, every discussion of which movie to watch or what game to play becomes a bit more important.

Because time matters. I’ve said this for years, but now, when we are all about to begin the farewells that come with major life changes, I can truly feel it. I know that time is the greatest gift I can give anyone. Time, once it’s gone, never comes back. Moments and memories will outlast any present, any stocking stuffer. And in this truly memorable, wonderful season, I want to make sure I don’t dwell so much in my melancholiday that I miss out on time with the ones I love most.

On her wonderful Christmas album, Mindy Gledhill sings a song called “Little Soldier.” I’ve loved the song since I first heard it nearly a decade ago, but the other day it came on and yes, I started crying. The song is from the viewpoint of a young woman, venturing into the next big adventure–much like Audrey is about to jump into her next step of life.

But it’s the chorus that gets me.

Father Time comes creeping in
We fight back but he will win
If I asked one Christmas wish, then it would be
Soldier, could you win back time for me?

On this “First Last Christmas,” I would love to win back more time. Time I wasted by being focused on the wrong thing, by giving so much of my time to audiences and congregations while my kids were little. I don’t think they resent the time we spent or think I wasn’t there enough, but I want more. I want some of that time back so I could cherish it even more. To hang on to the sounds of little voices and little giggles and all the things that they were, despite how much I love who they are.

I can’t win it back, but I can spend it wisely today. Let’s try to be less melancholiday and more in the moment. The ones we love best will appreciate it–and a year or two from now, when you look back, you will be grateful you did.